Stuck On You
by PersnicKty2018
Summary: "If you walk out of my life, don't ever try to talk to me again" she always tells them. "Okay" they always reply. But not him. Instead, he meets her eyes and says, "If you walk out of my life, don't let the door hit you." (They both lie because when she walks out of his life she breaks her heart on the door and when he walks out of hers he has every intention to talk to her again.)
1. Chapter 1: Annabeth

_I'm going to be blunt with you. This is, more or less, a love story. I'm not gonna lie and say that it's got all of the awesome battles and heroes and warriors, or something like, I don't know, children of gods (ha! How ridiculous would that be?). Sorry to break it to you, but we're just people. Regular old, dramatic people. We were young and stupid, and we happened to meet and fall into what we thought was love. Seventeen really is too young, believe me. Cherish your youth while it lasts because it does not go on forever. One day you'll be sitting in an apartment and wondering where the hell your life went wrong, just like me. (Okay, I'm far from a bad life but more on that later.) Back to what I was saying...love. Right. It is possibly the most overused and dramatic emotion in the history of humanity. Wise men slave over the puzzlement of 'love' and what it means. It is passion, fury, hate, desire, pleasure, romance, pain, all of those things. Everyone wants love in their life, and I, sadly, was no exception. Once again, seventeen truly is too young. I don't necessarily like to lie, but I like to think that it takes a certain skill to be able to be a pathological liar like me. Call it what you will, lying is just another part of my life, sad as that seems to be. Most people argue over the concept of the main things in life; happiness, wealth, and love. Those are just a few, but love is always in there. Happiness is often associated with love, but not always. Romeo and Juliet aren't a famous symbolism for nothing. Their story tells the tale of two young lovers willing to sacrifice even their lives for each other, with a theme and meaning so deep it touches the hearts of nations and poets throughout the years. Love is such an important thing that everyone wants and cannot live without. Personally, I believe that oxygen is more important, and the only theme I can ever find within that dreadful play is that love is tragic and we all end up dying in the end._

_(I can imagine this is where I part ways with some- if not most- of you. Boring you already? My apologies, but I did start off with a decent warning, did I not?)_

_I don't mean to sound overbearing, but you're here to listen to a good story, right? Maybe entertain yourself with the horrible writing? Well, I've always been more of an architect myself, but to each his own, remember that. Let me try again; you are here to listen to a story, probably about me and my love interest, and goad over the tragic lessons of life that are really of no value? Here's the thing- I'm fictional. I know it. I'm just a character that will never have a place in your world and will forever remain a figment of your imagination for the rest of your life. I'm not real. I could be, I suppose. But the me you are hearing from now is simply the product of someone's imagination and wifi. (Sorry.) However, I could very well still be a person. Whether I be merely words on a screen or an actual being, I suppose that's up for you to decide. But this is a story all the same, one I personally think is worth telling. Who knows? You might even learn something. I have come to realize that people don't like to change their opinions, so perhaps that's a bit much to hope for._

_Moving on now, if you are still here, this isn't just a love story. It's my life. Or, a portion of it. I'm sure if this were actually my life I'd fall dead of boredom, myself. But, of course, it has other aspects. Ones that you can probably connect with. So, maybe I lied when I said that there were no heroes. The only problem, I'm not quite sure who was who. Just like the saying goes, there's two sides to everything. I suppose that's a lie, too. There's more than just two. There can be three, four, five, as many as there possibly can be. But I'm only one person so you're a bit limited. (Sorry.)_

_I will tell you now that some of this story, you will not like. I'm not exactly proud of everything I did or everything that happened. Maybe if I were braver or just overall... Too late, I guess. That's another thing, do not believe them when they say it's never too late. Sometimes, certain things can be overdue, but often times, the moment comes, passes, and you're left with nothing but regrets and too late's. How are you supposed to know when the moment comes? Simple- you don't. No one does. If they say they do, they are lying. Sometimes you hit it right on the mark and sometimes it just flies completely overhead. There's nothing you can do. I sound an awful lot like a pessimist. I probably am. Can you blame me? Well, of course not, you don't even know me. But don't worry, you will. If you care to do so and keep reading. You cannot fail to look inside something simply because it does not look appealing or eye catching. Those are the best ones. What are they? I wonder. I fear I do not know that myself. Lots of people believe them to be books. I think them to be simple metaphors. My brain is hardwired for logic and plain fact, you'll have to excuse me. I get along better with numbers, letters, and a sketchpad than a person. Give me calculus or chemistry any day._

_I sincerely hope this story does come to satisfaction to you. It was quite endearing, and I'm not entirely sure if it was worth it. The choices we make heavily inflict upon our futures, don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Seize the moment, they will say. You have to look into their eyes and say, 'there are more important things'. Because, really, there are. Your life will move on whether you're ready or not. Here's the secret grownups fail to tell you; the real world sucks. It's a dark, dangerous place where there's no one you can trust. You are going to be on your own and you're going to have to just deal with it because God knows that's all we can ever do. Believe me this one time when I tell you that I am not lying. I don't want to frighten you of the future or anything, but it's the truth._

_(Sorry.)_

* * *

It's just the same routine over and over again. Why don't they get it? I'm just not interested. It's not like I have the whole school wrapped around my finger, but there are still more guys than I'd like that are interesting in capturing my attention. Oh, give me a break. It's always been me and me alone. Me, myself, and I against the world. I think I heard Reyna say that once. Seems fitting enough. But honestly, everyone is a bit melodramatic.

High school has been the same story three years in a row. I can remember a time when I actually wanted to be noticed a little, back in freshman year when I was still invisible Annabeth. What I wouldn't give for one day of that again. It's not that my life is bad, I have plenty of friends, but they don't really know me, and I prefer to keep it that way. In a few months, I'll be out of New York and somewhere far away, where I'll probably never see any of them ever again. So, what does it matter, really? Who cares if you're popular or good at sports? I certainly don't. Academics are way more important than anything. Sure, sports scholarships are always offered, but what can you do with that? Nobody made success without hard work and dedication.

Which is what I intend- success. That's all that's in my future, and I will do anything to keep it there. It's not really sacrificing a social life for good grades when you never had one in the first place. But I could care less. Maybe I'll wonder what the Friday night parties are like, or the regular hangout place everyone insists upon, but I have homework to do, studying to worry about. Others should be more open to the future. It's closer than they think, and creeps up second by second, and you don't even realize it's gone until it is. I can't afford petty distractions like those things. Dating is another thing I find completely pointless. So why bother? Because simple logic. All the great love stories start with the girl despising the opposite gender. They don't acknowledge them, and yet all the guys want her. I don't want to be in that situation. That just ends up being more work on my behalf. So, instead, I accept any boy who is brave (or stupid, take your pick) enough to ask me out. But I don't like leaving any roots. I can almost feel the letter of acceptance in my hands and I don't need anything tying me down. It edges off most of the suitors, and yet, I still don't give off the right vibe. They still seem to sense that I'm not interested and attempt to break down my icy facade that I let down for no one. Why would they think that they're special? They're all no different from the rest. Just like me. Why am I so desirable? I'm just ordinary. By all definition, I guess I'm not bad looking. I am not vain nor insecure, just honest.

The name of the boy before me completely slips my mind. Should I feel bad? Yes, definitely. But my pride won't allow me to feel sorry for someone I'll only know for a week or so.

"And...um, I was wondering...if...maybe, you wanted to...go out sometime?" he stammers. I'll admit, I appreciate the gesture. I don't exactly want to be intimidating, I just want to be invisible. Appreciate going unnoticed, it doesn't last forever. But, instead, I plaster a smile to my face and kindly accept his offer. The boy seems to light up with confidence after this. I'm glad he's not like others. All the ones before thought that they were the best thing in the world and wanted a hard-to-get girl who would give them a challenge. Too bad they thought they could break me when I am unbreakable. I'm trained especially for these types of things. My future has a lot of things in it but 'relationships' aren't one of them. They take too much time, effort, commitment, and overall _emotion. _I probably sound like a robot, but it is truly easier to focus when I don't have anything else to worry about.

It's the same routine over and over again. They smile like they've just won a Nobel Peace Prize, and I remain calm and collected behind closed castle walls they foolishly believe I've let down for them. It's the same story, a new chapter that's just as repetitive and pointless as the last. I cant help but worry that my entire life will always be like this, but college will be better. I'll be able to be successful and take back my life that I have devoted to my future. Not that I really want to be in any sort of social spotlight, but being able to breathe every now and then would be nice. I'm already ahead on almost all of my classes and I have a good record, I can't afford to think otherwise. School was created to learn, not to be social. I wish other people would learn that. No, maybe not learn, understand would be better. Drama is just a topic that comes along with high school and I try to avoid it as much as possible. Of course I've gotten caught up in it before, but only in the past couple years when someone thought it would be funny to make fun of my intelligent status. The previous years before, I'm not even sure if anyone knew my name.

Let me get something straight; I'm not really all that popular. I just happen to be on the good side of quite a few people who are. Goode High neither hates me nor loves me, it simply knows me. I don't have anyone piling up in line just to say hi to me, or anyone hiding in the corners hating me with every fiber of their beings. It's a nice feeling, but it's still a little too exposed for me. My mother, Athena, abandoned me to my father when I was just a baby, and he never really knew what to do with me. Plus, Frederick Chase isn't exactly the kind of person to be the loving father type. Both of us prefer to be on our own. Well, he did, and I eventually learned to. The attention made me uncomfortable because it was unnatural. Perhaps I might have turned out differently if he loved me as much as my step brothers, as he always seems to find time for them, but I'm too used to it to be jealous. I've never known the relationship between me and my parents, so I've never wanted one. Looking back on my childhood, it does seem rather bleak and, well, nonexistent, but it's too late to change. I'm a firm believer that some, if not most, things can, indeed, become too late.

"Is there any expectations you have for me?" the boy asks. As I make a mental note to look through the yearbook for his name, the ever present question comes up. More or less, it's the same thing. They all ask it, I give the same reply, and they all give the same answer. The question of what I want from them, maybe they want me to ask what they want of me. The truth is that I don't really care what they want from me. It's not about them, this is simply so I can avoid all of the high school drama. Maybe, just the tiniest bit, that makes me a player, but I try to be good and nice and I never intentionally break anyone's heart. They are the ones that believe that I can come to care for them the way I care for my grades, when in reality, they should know that the chances of that happening are roughly one to never. What's the point of becoming attached if you're just going to leave? Keep moving around, it's harder to collect dust that way. Dust just wears you down, anyway.

I try to smile, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. I don't think he notices. "Just one."

"And that is?" he asks expectantly.

Practiced, memorized, and perfected, I recite exactly what I've always said; "If you walk out of my life, don't ever try to talk to me."

He looks a little taken back, but all the same, he nods. "Okay," is what he says- what they always say. It's always the same, like a routine all of us are too afraid to break. Maybe we are. I don't really understand this all. I'm hoping I can find some excuse before we even go on a real "date". I'm sure some would argue that I need to live a little more, but if I live now, what will become of the future? Maybe when I get there I can slow down, but I'm still prime in my youth. I don't want to become someone who has no idea what to do with their lives when they get too old to have multiple paths to choose. I don't exactly know where my destination is, but it's further than this. I'm only seventeen and I have a world ahead of me that needs conquering.

I gather my books in arm, walking through the halls. No one else is in sight as I walk down the halls, yet I still keep my gray eyes cast down and my blonde locks shadowing my face. Most of the time it's pulled back but I like to have a little variety. My calculus book is extra heavy today and I try not to struggle with it. That would seem like I was asking for help and Annabeth Chase does not ask for help. And I'm speaking in the third person now, grrreeeat_, _I've become one of _those _people. My thoughts are way too scattered and I mentally scold them alongside my step. Calculus, as well as chemistry, AP English, AP history, and Latin notes are balanced on top of a binder I never use. My plain messenger book bag should probably be more useful than it is, but it's filled with pointless things, primarily being college applications and pamphlets as well as sketches of building designs. Not like I ever really go through with them, I don't have the experience or the tools, but I really like the topic. The numbers make sense in my mind and I can't wait until I can leave this city. Don't get me wrong, I love New York, but I don't want to be stuck here forever. Most people would dream of just being here to start with, but not me. All I want is out. I've grown up here, it's time to move on now. Just a few more months and I'm free.

I can always manage my things. It's one of the things I pride myself in, being able to handle things myself, on a deeper level than just my books, papers, and notes. I always do my best so it's always my best work and I would like to make sure they are safely carried and delivered. So of course I'm flustered when all of a suddenly my things go toppling out of my hands and spilling across the floor. All of my carefully organized papers completely scattered.

"Are you kidding me?" I mutter before bending down to pick up the mess. I awkwardly press my legs into a 'w' shape and bend over, pushing a few bangs behind my ear. My fuddled green sweater is much too large and flops down over my hands. I furrow my brow in disapproval. My jeans are probably much too baggy for any of the others' taste, and then they have the boot-cut where they actually covers the tops of my old, worn, over used red Converse that are really more of a burgundy as my feet have failed to outgrow these shoes for the past five years and I don't dare ask for new ones. Plus, I'm sure I look like a total loser sitting by myself in an empty hallway picking up fallen papers. I sigh to myself and push a stray lock back in place. I did say I liked variety, but often times my hair just gets in the way. I can't really do anything to it. I can't use a straightener without endangering myself, the general area around me, or both, and I can only do a simple side braid. My curls may look appealing but they're much too difficult to deal with. Sometimes I think about cutting it all off, but as much of a pain it is, I am partial to longer hair. And I suppose it's not all bad. Over the years, my bright blonde has darkened into more of a darker blonde, smoothing out. There were still plenty of fly-aways but I have to give it credit, half the time it doesn't look _that _bad.

"Need some help?" someone asks me.

I sigh and flash my helper a smile. "Sure, thanks." It takes me a minute to realize who it is, but I feel proud when I do. Goode High isn't exactly a small school.

Percy Jackson crouches down beside me. His hair is damp enough to appear wet but not enough to ruin my papers, thankfully. He's the captain of the swim team and I hadn't even realized that the pool is right next to this area, so of course he might be passing through. His black hair is longer than I remember, and more tame although that might be due to the dampness. He's got quite a bit of height on me just from looking at him. I suppose he has a muscular build but I can't really tell beneath his T-shirt and baggy shorts. I don't know anything negative about Percy Jackson, but I haven't exactly heard a lot about him period. He sort of slips under the radar here, something that I seriously envy. He's wearing a baggy Goode High swim team shirt with khaki shorts and what I believe are Vans. He keeps his eyes low so I can study him secretively. It's this thing I do, I like to know my surroundings. Percy's entire presentation just screams, 'don't notice me'. There's nothing that stands out on him that I can see. His black backpack with a Goode High swim team logo on the front rests against the wall where he must have set it down when he saw me picking up this wreck.

He doesn't try to talk to me, and I'm thankful. I don't really know what we could say or even talk about. Which is sad considering we've been in the same school since elementary school. Or, wait...maybe he moved here in...middle school? I can't really remember. And that's really sad because it was only a little over than ten years ago. Wow. I was alive ten years ago. Time really does fly. Either way, I don't see him around much. The swim team is successful from what I've heard but it's never been something as important as football or baseball or basketball. I believe they went to state last year, though, so they can't be all that bad. I do admire people who do what they like and devote themselves to it.

He hands me a stack of papers with a sketchbook that must have slipped out resting on top. "Here," he offers. I gratefully take them.

"Sorry about that. Thank you, anyhow," I nod my head in a sophisticated manner, adding it to my bustling arms. This is what I get for being smart, I suppose. Second semester's just began and I have to be prepared for all the new lessons coming up. I have credits to earn and SAT tests to practice. It's a good thing my father has a good job, those tests are something ridiculous, like eighty dollars, give or take.

He shrugs easily. "No problem." With that, he walks away, gracefully leaning down to grab and swing his backpack over his shoulder. Before he leaves, though, he turns to me and says, "His name's Chris. Chris Rodriguez."

"Excuse me?" I respond.

"The guy," he nods in the way the boy who I had just agreed to date had run off in. "That's his name."

I blink once or twice (or several times). How did he know that I wasn't aware of the boy's name? I voice my question through stutters, and he chuckles lowly. "I just assumed, I guess."

Then, Percy Jackson (who is not on a first name basis) shoves his hand in his pocket, grasping the backpack strap with the other, and strides away. His gait is long and slow, yet I bet I would have to pace to keep up with it. Hmm, what an interesting thought. Why would I be walking next to Percy Jackson in the first place? I think I've talked to him once or twice. I remember a little how I helped him to the nurse's office when he had gotten hit by a ball. If he had only ducked sooner... Well, I suppose I was the one who had thrown it, the least I could have done was to help the poor kid out. I'm not completely heartless. I'm sure plenty would disagree. I might even want to add myself to that list. Oh well. I can worry about those kinds of things later. For now, I just walk away and forget about the whole strange encounter.

It's only a few minutes after I get home that I lose the boy's- ahem, Chris Rodriguez's- number that he ever-so-graciously supplied me with. I don't mean to, I swear, things like this just happen. I try my very hardest to keep things organized and this is what happens. At least it's not something that's majorly important. Except that, well, it kind of is. Or, should be, at least. I should be devastated and instead I'm just...blank? Emotionless? I don't know. Either way, I can't help but feel just some sort of relief. Yet, I really should text him, or maybe even call him. Maybe he's expecting me to make the first move. I sure hope he isn't. If he is, well, he'll be waiting for a long time. Like, try the rest of his life because that's how soon I'll fall in love.

It's not that I don't believe in love. I believe that it exists, I just don't think it's meant to last. Take my parents for example. Athena and Frederick Chase met, fell in love, had a baby, and then separated, leaving me at a crossroads and both of them with a broken heart. Or, at least, I like to think that it pained Athena to leave her infant child on the doorstep of her father who was a stranger. Food for my thoughts, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. My brain likes to work a little too fast and at times it can become a bit much to handle. Think of it like an engine. It can overheat, and if it does, then one's in trouble. It just needs time to cool down every now and then and it's good as new, can't even tell they were drained.

Nothing lasts forever; that's the main lesson of it all. Everything has a purpose, whether for good or ill, and sooner or later, that purpose will either be met or failed. Either way, they are done, no longer needed, tossed away and discarded like the junk it really is. There's no way to prevent it or conquer it. It's all just a matter of luck and tactic. The only thing you can really do is cross your fingers and hope for the best. Some get lucky, others don't. That's just the natural balance of the world. Like the story of Pandora's box we learned about last year. Curiosity killed the cat, so to speak. It's not just the cat, though. He's not the only one at fault. Mostly, the only thing we can blame is fate. I feel I have been lucky and kind-hearted (or, at least, tried to be), so I sure hope I get shown maybe some kindness. If not, well, what can I do other than push on? Nothing, that's what. I'll keep fighting, no, you won't see me give up. Not now, not ever. If fate decides to be cruel later down the road, I have a backup plan. I can take my life in my own hands, thank you very much. The only one anyone will ever see protecting me is me, that is one thing that will never change. I've worked hard to be where I am, and I'm so close to finishing it all up. Fate won't stand in my way, and neither will school.

Which is why I have a boatload of AP homework I work on for roughly an hour before I have until two am to study for. I probably do need a life, but overachieving isn't a crime, now, is it? This has to earn me some credit for being able to function fully and completely on three hours of sleep and morning coffee black as my soul. Maybe not. It's probably not healthy, I should know, I had to take several courses of health that were not a high point in my learning experience, but I don't really care anymore. Some things have to go and sleep is only so necessary. Besides, it's not like I can go back and suddenly care about how I look. Silena, Rachel, and Drew love to play Dress Up Annabeth (the only one seeming to hate that game is, oh, well, what do you know, Annabeth), but I couldn't care less of my appearance. I have a goal, a plan, a bright future. Some things will have to be sacrificed. I don't mind at all, because, after all, I'm only going to be here for a few more months before it's 'goodbye New York'. I refuse to be stuck here for the rest of my days. I have more potential, I can feel it. I want to do something with myself other than be someone I don't want to.

Because I am human, I am also rather selfish. I want a lot of things for myself, I think I can do things better than others, I think I chew as much as I desire to bite off. Some would call it my fatal flaw, I call it my pride. One in the same, I suppose. I don't really like being too standout-ish, which is probably why the walls of my room are painted gray. Super depressing and haunting, I know. It wasn't really my idea and I don't care enough to change it. It's not like there's anyone to see it, though. It's just me in my own little world. I'm good with that. People are just annoying and frustrating and all those glorious things that everyone presides over. I'd much rather stick to the facts and right now, the facts say that I probably need to get a life.

Go figure.

Well, a life can surely wait. I have better things, more important things to take care of. I probably seem hard headed, highly introverted, and perhaps even self conscious. That's because I am, okay? I set my mind to something, I achieve it. I don't care about a social status because I don't need one. I'm only seventeen, my whole life is ready to be laid out before me. Besides, consuming alcohol is highly dangerous for a minor. It can mess with their brain. It's probably already taken effect on most New Yorkers, not that I'm surprised. Nothing should really come as one, not anymore. But there's this sad truth- the world is filled with surprises, and just when you think you've overcome them all, well, let's just say that while you change, so does the world, and that means more surprises that are renewed every day, hour, minute, second, of our lives. Time is an unbalanced object fixed above our heads and we have to deal with it in our own ways. We're all different, and yet we're not different at all. Humans really are confusing creatures, if you really think about it.

* * *

**PersnicKety2018 here! Okay, I lied. There's also Rumbling Night Cutter. We have decided to co write this modern human!AU together, ta da! But it's just me right now, so, sorry. Annabeth's POV will be my chapters and Percy's are Rumbling Night Cutter's. We'll try to alternate and keep this interesting and as non-cliche as possible, but who are we kidding? It's a Percabeth story.**

**Also, for my Soul Of A Dragon readers, I swear I'm working on the next chapter, I just got overly distracted with this story and had to publish it. Hopefully, it will be up soon and then I'll go back to my updating schedule. This story, however, will not have an updating schedule and Rumbling Night Cutter and I will just update when we feel like it/can. Thanks for checking it out and stay tuned for the next chapter!**

**~'~ PersnicKety2018**


	2. Chapter 2: Percy

_One thing out of the way: This is very much a love story. Lots of heartthrob stuff that fans of Twilight inexplicably love. However much I wish it, this isn't a story filled with epic story of a battle of gods and monsters- no matter how insanely epic that would be. Nope, love story through and through. And not to mention, we're just people. Ordinary, run-of the mill, middle class, nothing-special people. We're going to grow up, probably get boring jobs, and live out dull grey lives. But is that any reason to give up? I say no._

_But this is the story of how my emotions went a couple rounds with Chuck Norris, or, at least, that's how it felt. Because honestly, this stuff was a bit too much for me. I mean, I should have known better; in love at seventeen?_ Really?_ What the hell was I thinking at the time? But as I said, young and stupid. Now I'm less young and its debateble where the leval of my stupidity has gone. I like to think that it's surpassed what it was a few years ago, although I'm sure there are several people who would disagree, myself included. But anyway, let's go on with this._

_I'm not going to tell you life sucks and I'm not going to tell you life is beautiful. Th__at's for the person living to decide. But what I_ am_ going to tell you about is mine. It's...so-so. It's ok, I guess. I'm not insanely rich, I don't have thousands of fans and admirers. I'm not a playboy. I'm just...well, I'm only Percy Jackson._

_But one policy I live by is that it's always too late for some things- but it's never too late to try again. And again. And again. You just get right back up and, even though I know it's the definition of insanity, keep on trying. You can give up, or you can be a stubborn bull and see where that gets you. There's the quote "Why be difficult when, with a little bit of effort, you can be impossible!" for a reason, right? Same thing with keeping at it. Why give up when, with just a little effort, you can keep going? It could lead you to your wildest dreams... Or to being a muttering hobo in an alleyway, whichever way the ball bounces._

_I know I'm just fictional. I know there are thousands of different versions of me on the website your using to read this, and to be honest I'm kind of envious of some of them. They_ do _get__ huge battles and monster fights and epic stories, whereas I'm the Percy who gets dragged into a love story. Meh._

_(And to both of you writers pulling my strings, make me sappy and I will rip through the boundaries of space and time- not the mention the very laws of nature- to go after you. Yeah, that's right, I know who you are and where you live!)_

_But I can't really complain. At least there's less chance of dying in this type of stories. Like, a lot. I mean, a love story isn't likely to get me impaled on a bullhorn or stabbed by a titan or something. Then again, one of the authors is orientated to extreme violence, and the other is unpredictable. I'm keeping my eye on them. But anyway, this story is for you. For your freinds. For all freinds of this franchise! But it's not a fluffy story. It does not end with the couple happily staring into the sunset. It's twisted and it hurts sometimes. Sorry if that's intimidating, but unfortunately its true. _

_Because life isn't always happy and cheerful and heroic. Often times, it just sucks. I'm sure most of you know that, but I'm only here to remind you that it does. We can only hope for the little good things that come along with living. So yeah, life is awful. It hurts, it makes you want to scream, it makes you/me want to throw your- and myself off a cliff. In other words, it's the pain of being human._

_Sorry._

* * *

_Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep._

I hate beep. Beep is bad. Beep wakes you up from nice, comfortable slumber and draws you out of the warmth of your blankets just to have you slap it to make it be quiet for five more kidneys. Beep is the spawn of Satan. Or Hades, or whatever you prefer, I don't care. What I do care about is finding a way to make my alarm clock not have an alarm anymore, short of smashing the stupid thing into itty bitty pieces.

In the bunk above me, my half brother, Tyson, groans and rolls in his sleep. He's the kid of my Dad and a woman he met after he left my mother since before I could remember. When the big guy's mom had died of cancer, Dad jumped ship figuratively and sent him to my mom and I, then jumped on another ship...that didn't come back. Ok, maybe I'm being blunt about all this, but I like to have things in the open. Keeping it a secret only hurts more, and it's not like I have anything like, gods forbid, pride, to secure.

I had resented him at first, for intruding into the way my mom and I worked, and for getting to live with Dad until he was seven when I couldn't even remember the guy's face. But eventually I had come around, after a few brave shows of loyalty from the seven year old. But right now, I was scared the bed above me might be my murder weapon as the bunk creaked under the big guy's weight. I was constantly in fear that it would shatter and I would end my story by perishing under a landslide if wood, mess and Tyson.

Whose bright idea was it to give him the top bunk?

Oh yeah. Mine. Heh. Well, to be fair, when he moved in about six years ago, he was significantly smaller and a lot lighter than he was now. As a high school sophomore, he looks a bit like a sulfur who had accidentally gotten hooked on steroids.

He has long, blond hair and a big, beefy build. He's bling in one eye, so his left one is milky white and kinda creepy looking, while his right one's baby blue and always looking around with enthusiasm. "P-Percy," he moans, one long, ape-like arm dealing over the side of his bed. "Shut it up!"

"Can't," I moan right back. "Too...too sleepy too move. I don't wanna get up... Ever. Like, seriously, ever. Is it possible to just sleep until we die of old age?" Tyson makes a half moan half laugh, his arm jerking a bit as the sound left him. "I don't think so. We'd probably live longer, though." We're silent for a while as morning light fills the room from the shuddered windows, washing the room in slightly yellow light. Then, Tyson seems to realize something as he grunted.

"Iiiiisn't it Monday?" He drawls, and my eyes shot open in shock. I quickly push myself up and wipe my eyes, squinting at the alarm clock (which, yes, was still playing that blasted beep on a loop. That sound would one day put me in a mental ward, I swear!). The evil little red numbers are at 7:00.

And school starts at 7:30! "TYSON!" I yell, scrambling out of my sheets, trying to get out min the process, I accidentally grab his arm,and drag the poor guy out of his bunk. My little half brother hits the ground with a loud thump.

"Owwwwwwwww," he complains, still somehow half asleep, and I scramble over to him, not overly worried. This had happened a thousand times. He had the durability of Superman. They guy could probably take some flaming cannonballs to the face and come out of it relatively unharmed.

I run to the dresser and began frantically shedding my nightclothes, before reaching into my drawer and yanking out a fresh orange shirt and a pair of jeans. The mess known as Tyson is still sprawled on the floor, and he hasn't moved an inch. I jump over him and kick him in the side on my way to the bathroom. "Come on, bro, get up!" I say. "We're gonna be late for school!"

"Don't care," he mumbles into the carpet as I dash into the bathroom, shoving my toothbrush into my mouth as I finish with my belt buckle. It wasn't the first time I had gotten ready for the day this fast. We often slept till the last minute around here.

As a last ditch attempt to get Tyson awake, I yell, "Ella will be waiting for you in the cafeteria!" That has the desired affect. As if he had teleported, the big guy goes from sloppy mess on the floor, to slightly less sloppy guy dressed a bit like a vagabond. He has his dark sunglasses over his eyes so people won't stare at the blind one, standing at his full nearly six foot height.

Ella's Tyson's friend at school. She is a short little redhead who was autistic, and, for some reason I can never grasp, always speaks in the third person. A bit of a bookworm as well, always reading or writing, and due to Tyson's Aspergers, the two got along well.

I had been teasing the big guy for weeks that he had a crush on her, and he would vehemently deny it, even though he always turned the same color as her hair when I mentioned it, and any mention of her name would bend him to the speaker's will. Like I had just demonstrated.

"What are you waiting around for, Percy?" He says, adjusting his belt buckle as I spit into the sink, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "We gotta go! Like, right now!" He grabs my arm and tugs me out of the small bathroom. We squeezed down the hallway, and down the stairs below.

Now for a little background, because that's always very important. I had moved to New York when I twelve and Ty was Ten. See, Mom used to be married to this guy called Gabe, (whom I had nicknamed 'Smelly Gabe' for numerous reasons, a concept that my half brother, with his unusually strong sense of smell, wholeheartedly agreed). It wasn't a good relationship. He worked our mother like a house maid, and barely showed her any affection other than filthy, lust-filled looks that made me want to find a gorgon head and turn him to stone. Unfortunately there were no gorgons around.

After he had started to get abusive, mom had broken off the marriage instantly and dragged us all the way up to New York City into this middle class apartment we are currently in. We aren't poor, but we're skimming the surface of 'financially concerned' constantly.

But I can't really complain. I really can't. I mean, Mom's always working on a novel that even I think is good. And I don't like reading that much, so that's saying something. She's much happier than she ever was with Gabe, and there's much less grey in her hair on her head, the lack of Gabe's abuse letting her hair regain color.

She greets us in the kitchen, a pair of Poptarts on a plate, one green and one blue. "Thank's Mom," I call, getting down before the big clomping feet of Tyson even reach the stairs. I seize the blue Poptart from the feet as Ty arrives at ground level. "Late for school. Love ya, see you," I call. "Come on, big guy!"

"Have a great day," she calls back from over the counter and I smile, waving as I give Tyson a tug on the arm. He nods and grabs the green one, turning back to Mom with a small smile. "Yeah, w-what he said." I dash out the door and down the stairs of the apartment building, hearing my bag over my shoulder as I ran. I jump a few stairs trying to get to the bus faster.

When we reach the grass, we break out into a full sprint for the bright yellow bus at the curb. I reach it first, hopping onto the bus step slightly, grabbing onto the metal railing next to the doorway, huffing and puffing minorly.

Tyson arrivex a few seconds later. The bus driver, a guy who also works as a coach at the school, barks: "What are you so winded about, Cupcake?" Meet Coach Hedge, the vertically-challenged, highly-aggressive, itchy-trigger-fingered, stereotypical-drill-sergeant-emulating vegetarian. The guy barely reaches over the bus's dashboard. His face is a mixture of intimidating and troll-like, a combination that's oddly fascinating. The intimidation factor is only amped by the baseball bat strapped to his seat, so I'm not in full confidence I could back talk him and return from the attempt with all my teeth.

"Nothing... Hedge," I said. "Just... Just a little out of breath." I grinned.

"Well, you can go be out of breath in a bus seat," he snapped. "I'm on a schedule Cupcake, now hurry up!" The undersized coach has an odd and slightly disturbing habit of calling people, regardless of age, gender or personal relation, 'Cupcake.' I quickly dash down the row of seats, my leg brushing some girl's knee. I stop for a moment to apologize, but my voice falls flat when I see who it is.

Annabeth Chase. The grey-eyed ice queen, as it knows her. I had a crush on her a while back, but it wasn't going anywhere with that attitude she possessed, and my commitment to the swim team quickly washed away any feelings I had for her.

Oh, wait a second. Oh, oh no. I just made a pun. I beg forgiveness from divine forces for that assault against the English language. That was just... That was bad. I'm ashamed of myself.

Anyway, instead of an apology I just give her a quick nod of acknowledgement, one that is _not_ returned. She just glances up at me and back to the book in her lap, and I brush past her to the nearest empty seat. Talk about _cold._

I plop down with a sigh and begin fishing in the pocket of my jacket for my earbuds as Tyson soon joins me. My head still wants to be asleep, so I'm not fully awake as the bus rumbled back to life and began running its course along the road.

I take a little glance back at Annabeth. Her position hasn't moved, and neither has her antisocial vibe. I had tried to set her up with Chris (upon Chris's request) a while ago, but my success had lasted about three days before the couple split for still-unknown reasons.

I shake my head and lean against the seat, closing my eyes as music began to flood my ears from the earbuds. Idly, I thought back to one if my first gym classes in New York. I had just met the kid that would become my best friend, Grover, when the coach (Hedge, ironically) announced that it was time to play dodgeball, boys vs girls.

That had ended pretty quickly for me, I remember with a small scoff. I had looked across the black line that split our side from the feminine population, my eyes immediately coming into contact with those of a princess-haired girl. She had seemingly locked onto me too. When Hedge had blown the whistle for the game to start, she had thrown her ball at me like there was a personal grudge between us. All that I recalled from that point on, all I remember was the smell of dirty gym ball, and a loud, rubbery _doink!_

When I had come too, I nearly had a heart attack when I found myself alone in the nurse's office with the stormy-eyed, princess-haired girl that was responsible for my very first bout of forced unconsciousness in my life.

And you know what she said? The only thing she said to me was a dry, witty sentence: "You drool in your sleep." I had yelped and reached to wipe the embarrassing development away, but by the time I looked up, she had gone. When I next encountered her, she had permanently adopted her 'Ice Queen' persona, and hasn't spared a word to me since.

I had tried to get her to talk to me, tried to make her my friend, but she'd brush me off every time. And eventually, I was sick of it. Bored to death from chasing after her attention. Tired of having another rejection thrown in my face. And so I stopped trying.

After that I moved on. I made friends, and basically had a normal school experience full of homework and video games and dull afternoons, all that stuff. And so here I am. A senior in high school, barely afloat grades and financial status.

The bus's tires squeal in protest as we come to an abrupt halt as we arrive at the school. I am jolted from my memories and I reach up, yanking my music out of my ears. I push myself out of my seat, waiting for Tyson to get up.

He does and we shuffle out of the metal tube of transportation, dismounting as students flood into the space outside the school. I make my way towards the building, resigned for another day of pointless facts and getting blamed for stuff I didn't even do...again.

Before I can even reach the building, a hand grabs me by the shoulder and I jump around, quickly shoving the offender away. "Whoa, Boss!" he yells in response and I look at him.

"Blackjack," I sigh, putting my arms down. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry," he apologized, sounding sincerely sorry.

"And don't call me boss!" I remark. Blake, otherwise known as Blackjack for undefined reasons, is my cousin on my Dad's side. He's a major troublemaker as well as a juvenile delinquent through and through. And because I'm such a softie, I keep bailing him out when he gets himself into a mess. But this has led to him holding me in a rather high light, addressing me as 'Boss' and willing to make his friends and himself carry out simple tasks for me. All I have to do is ask.

Unfortunately, he's using the tone he uses when he wants something out of me. Coating his words with charisma and charm, trying to sound like a business man making a deal. "Sorry, Boss," he says again. That's the one command he always ignores; me telling him to not call me that.

We are silent for a couple seconds before he speaks up again. "So, uh, Boss, um, there's a party tonight."

Straight to the point. I don't like where this is going.

"And?" I promote, folding my arms in front of my chest and giving him a look that had terrified Tyson when I still had height on him, and he shifts under my gaze, biting his lip. "The thing is," he rubs the back of his head nervously with a small bit of sheepishness. "Well, everyone's going. I meant Beckendorf, Malcolm, uh, Luke, even that sleepy dude Clovis..."

I raise an eyebrow. "This is about Luke, isn't it?" Luke's always been this jerk that Blackjack had ticked off a few too many times. He had harassed the popular kid so often that Luke had actually gone out of his way to pick on and manipulate my little cousin, though he refuses to acknowledge it.

"No," he claims indignantly. "It's just- you can come. If you want to. Safety in numbers and all, I mean, your kinda scary when your mad, and who in their right mind would mess with the big guy over there, am I right?"

I hold up my hands. "All right, all right, Jack, I'm gonna go!" I sigh and shake my head. Like I have a chance of being able to get out of it anyway. Blackjack _always_ finds a way to get favors out of people. Sometimes I wonder who is actually the 'Boss'.

"Awesome," he grinned. "It's at Will Solace's place, six o'clock. See ya there boss." He gave me a thumbs up before dissapearing into the crowd. That was Tyson and Blackjack AWOL for a few hours, I thought to myself. "Let's see what the rest of the day has got in store.

* * *

Nada. Nothing happens. Boring day. Bland. Empty. Wasted hours. Bleh.

So, yeah. I don't have anything eventful happening during school, unless it counts to have to practically run out of the Geometry room to avoid confrontation with Mrs. Dodds. She is one scary, scary teacher. Uurrhhhh!

But it isn't that uncommon of a thing. So, overall, a pretty normal day. Except for at lunch, I see Annabeth, which is a bit strange as I don't think she'd be caught dead in the commons. She's all by herself at one of the tables, her nose buried in a book, as per the usual. Her lunch sits untouched on a Styrofoam plate in front of her.

I roll my eyes. She's all alone, even though I had introduced her to a perfectly decent guy, she had kicked him to the curb after barely giving him a chance. It was like slamming the door on a guy when he was already halfway inside. Weird and harsh. I always knew she was a quitter. She probably couldn't commit to anything.

I commit all my time to the swim team, giving it my all. A bit of a lame thing to dedicate myself too, but it's something. Dad disappeared at sea. Making the water something I didn't have to worry about was very...therapeutic. I think.

I walk right past the princess-haired girl and she barely even twitches as I pass her. I take another glance back when I sit at my table with Beckendorf and Grover, the only other senior friends I have. Tyson, Blackjack and Nico are all a year (or two, in Nico's case) or two below me.

Annabeth's position hasn't changed. She almost seems like a full-color statue, except for blinking, of course, and with the exception of the occasional turn of a page, she doesn't look up, doesn't eat, doesn't do, well, anything. And I shrug it off as always. I eat my lunch with Beckendorf and Grover, waiting for the bell like everyone else.

Like I said, I had a crush on her a loooong time ago, but I'm over it. I have no feelings for her whatsoever, nope. If she wants to stay holed up in fantasy land, good for her. I don't need her, and she's obviously infatuated with solitude. If she wants to be alone, she can stay alone. Who am I to stop her?

And all thoughts of her are gone for the rest of the day. It isn't until hours later that anything abnormal happens, because that's my life. A plain old boring routine. And that's fine for me. Things could be a lot worse. Mom could be dead. Tyson could be dead. _I_ could be dead. I could be heading across the country in a zoo truck, for all anyone knows. Overall, the routine is good, compared to all possible alternatives.

But my routine is about to get shaken up a little. Soon, it would never, ever be the same again. I wouldn't be able to focus on my goals twenty-four seven anymore, and I would be thrown for a loop a mile long and one that I would never, ever recover from. I still haven't. And I don't know if it was good or bad right now. I honestly don't.

* * *

**HI! I AM THE RUMBLING NIGHT CUTTER! I mostly write for HTTYD, and I am an action genre author, but recently PersnicKety2018 offered me a chance to co write this with her. I'd like to thank her real quick, this will be a real good way to branch out for me. If you can't tell, I tried to make Percy in extreme contrast to Annabeth.**

**Also, Pern (well your username isn't any better) and I will be responding to the comments on each of our chapters, so if you leave a review expect a reply of gratitude from yours truly. It really means a lot to both me and Pern, it shows that you enjoyed what we took the time (seriously, this took WAY longer than it should have) to write and put up for you to enjoy. Leave your suggestions, favorite parts, hopes too see, or anything else you want down in that little box down there.**

**Have an insanely epic whatever-point-in-time-you-read-this.**

**-RNC**


	3. Chapter 3: Annabeth

I'm surrounded by wild animals and I am going to die.

Fine, so it might be an exaggeration in the _tiniest, slightest _bit, but I can't say that I'm all that off. A Friday night teenage party is not exactly a surrounding that the Annabeth belongs in. The Annabeth is a very unsociable creature, better off alone with no contact to the outside world. Granted, I could basically write 'socially awkward' in bold, capital block letters across my forehead with the way that I act but this many people is just...claustrophobic. Not that I actually am claustrophobic, but I certainly feel like it.

Why am I here again?

A mass of red curls suddenly pops above the crowd as a drunk Rachel steps up onto the table. She would never actually do this willingly, but she goes over the top with the alcohol. Me, personally, I prefer water or tea, alcohol simply is not worth it. Who knows what could happen if you place yourself in that kind of situation? Aside from the fact that I had no desire whatsoever to know this, Silena had informed me that she had lost her virginity while drunk. Again, _why _she would tell me that is beyond me. But, hey, when it's something I'd like to forget, my mind typically remembers it. Just the way fate works, it's a cruel world out there.

But back to Rachel, she's the reason. She's the one who cashed in her favor I owed me from _two years ago _when I refused to ask some random guy out in the truth-or-dare game I had unwillingly participated in during lunch. Needless to say, there are many reasons I don't eat in the cafeteria anymore, but that being the prime spot on the list. And she knows how absolutely incredulous it is of me to break my word, so of course I had no choice when she said we were going to Will Solace's place earlier today and gave me a forlorn yet ominous quote, "You owe me."

I sigh and swirl my ginger ale around in my cup. (Of course from an unopened can and poured by myself, I've heard of the things that can happen if you take a drink from a stranger… I might be socially impaired but I'm not ignorant.) Tonight, I'm Rachel and Silena's designated driver, and based on the way these girls tend to txt me at one o'clock on a Saturday morning, it's going to be a long night.

Rachel and Silena had specifically come over _three hours before the party _to "dress me up" in something "halfway decent". I guess "halfway decent" means an inch of short-sleeved cleavage and ripped jean shorts on a (very cold!) January night in _New York. _The only comforts I have is that I had smuggled a sweatshirt in my car in the trunk and I'm allowed my Converse. They said that it adds "hipster flare", or something just as equally ridiculous. Whatever the works, I'm freezing. I'm not meaning to sound vain or anorexic, but I'm a bit on the skinnier side (okay, fine, I'm like a size double zero in my senior year of high school), so I heavily rely on my nice, cozy sweaters and long jeans for warmth. It's not that I'm all that athletic or that I purposely don't eat, I just get busy and it'll slip my mind. I'm not starving and I make sure to get the necessities, how is that bad? Warmth isn't something that comes very easily to me, though, so I suppose there's the downside to forgetting about certain habits.

I watch Rachel dance in a disgustingly seductive way, snacking on some trail mix and waiting for her to become dead drunk. She spies me and lightens up like a light bulb, waving frantically with red cheeks and a goofy grin. I flush and look down, suddenly interested in the nonexistent lint that's attached to the hem of my black shirt. I feel the giant urge to pull the V-neck up but that would only bring more attention than if I leave it, unfortunately. Parties _so _aren't my thing.

I'm debating whether or not I should retrieve my sweatshirt to ease the goosebumps that are iced on my arm when I suddenly realize that I have no idea where Silena is. Great, I just lost the most dangerous beast. Who knows where she could be? I don't know Will all that well but he has a ginormous house and I can't help but feel a tinge of frustration because _just my luck _I loose Silena in a _mansion. _I push the comforting thoughts of a sweatshirt to the back of my mind and set my drink down with no intention or care of finding it again. Someone will clean it up, bad as that makes me sound.

I have to get out of the main living room where most people are. If she were anywhere within a twenty foot radius, I would know. But I don't so that means she has to be somewhere. I heard that Will even has a pool, and though I wouldn't put it past her, I like to think that she's just the taddest bit smarter than that.

So. Many. People. That's all I can think as I stumble through the sea of people. Most of them I don't even know and they pay me no mind as the strobe lights flash on, giving me a serious headache. All of their faces blur together with hair whipping back and forth and hands everywhere. Flashing of joyful, white smiles pause, defying the general concept of sight with the dark party lights. I quickly decide that I hate strobe lights. If this is what high school parties are always like I'm certainly glad I have never been to one before. I haven't been missing much, I'd take my quiet bed any day- er, night- over this catastrophe.

Luckily, I get out alive where the lights can't affect my vision and mindset. I take a few moments to catch my breath with my hands on my knees. I can't believe Rachel dragged me to this. I absolutely hate it and it's only been about an hour or so. I stand back, refusing to succumb to my petty whining. It never did anyone any good, the only way to keep going is to keep going, right? I take a deep breath and really wish I had a map so I'd have some clue where to start.

"Whoa, hey there," someone calls at me. I snap around and peer at whoever called. I don't recognize them and their group of friends, but it's a tall male with blonde hair and bright, blue eyes. He has a nice look to him that makes it seem like he could be nice but I have my doubts. I'm not going to lie and say that he isn't good looking, but more in the handsome and sophisticated way. Again, though, I can make no guarantees as he's still here at Will Solace's party.

I narrow my eyes when I see that it's all a group of guys, and, unfortunately or fortunately, I'm not too sure, they don't look all that drunk. So I'm dealing with a half dimwit, at the very least. I cross my arms and try to come off as intimidating. It isn't too hard but, then again, they are half drunk.

"I haven't seen you around before," the one who originally called out to me smiled a charming smile.

"Yes, and I'd prefer it that way." I say back coldly.

He and his group laugh, one of them jokingly saying, "Whoa, Jason, you've found a feisty one."

I glare at the boy who said that, unable to distinguish a face. "No," I respond, "he hasn't. In fact, he hasn't found anything. I'm leaving." I spin on my heel and walk off, not wanting to deal with this kind of drama at the time. I have my friend to find.

"What's your name?" someone- maybe Jason, I'm not one hundred percent sure- calls out, laughing.

I snort. As if I'd ever tell them that. "None of your business," I say over my shoulder, feeling immensely satisfied with my response.

I startle a little when someone grabs my wrist and yanks me around. My eyes are wide but I'm glad that it's slightly dark and it would be hard to tell. The guy who grabbed me now is dark haired and he has an ugly smirk. He isn't as handsome as the Jason character but he gives me this feeling as if his ego more than makes up for it.

"Let go," I say lowly and threatening.

"You look new, why don't you let us show you around?" he flashes me a smile and I feel like puking.

"No thanks, I'd rather die," I say. Maybe a little unnecessary, but, hey, I'm in a sour mood and I don't want to be here. Anyone who wants to mess with me can deal with it.

"Come on, are you sure? A single girl like you could have a lot of fun with us," he says, slowly tugging me. I try to twist out of his grasp and he forcefully drags me back a bit.

"Let go!" I demand, hating how my voice shakes a bit. The nameless guy can tell, but he only smirks. His grip is tight and I start to panic. In a spur-of-the-moment instinct, I pull my fist back and punch him as hard as I can.

"Oh, shit!" he cries out, immediately letting go and clutching his jaw, looking positively pissed off. I don't wait around to see what happens next, grateful for wearing sneakers as I scurry off. I hear the guy growl, "That little blonde bitch is going to get it." but then someone else say firmly, "You've had your fun, let her go." I recognize the voice as the only named guy in the group, Jason, and though he had just practically gotten me into that situation, my respect level for him jumps up a few notches.

Great, I already have a group of people I need to avoid, and I hadn't even left for two minutes.

Still, though, I can't help but feel just the slightest bit happy with how I handled it. I've never punched anyone before and my fist is throbbing and red, but I'm alive and fine and now they know not to mess with me. I allow my lips to curve upwards into a small smile and a small laugh escapes my mouth. I bring my hand up to stifle it and slow to a walk. That was probably the most action I've had with anyone in...well, forever. Does PE really count? No, I wouldn't say so. I don't like to get out all that much so I try not to, I suppose I should feel grateful that Rachel waited until senior year to drag me to a party, but still. I can't help but long for my simple bedroom with my grey walls.

"Silena," I step into a hallway, calling her name and sticking my head around the corner just to be sure I won't walk in on some couple making out. Like I said, I may be inexperienced, but I'm not ignorant. "Hello?" I ask. There's no one in the hallway and I sigh, moving on to get lost somewhere else.

You have got to be kidding me. Silena decides to play hide and seek and it has to be in a mansion. I guess it's not of upmost importance that I find her, but it's still good to know that she is having a good time and not mixing in with the wrong crowd. Though she often annoys me, she is still my friend and I care about her. But seriously, would it hurt her just to be a _little _more responsible? And now I have a giant house to scour in my free time. Oh well, it's not like my time would be spent doing anything better. At least this way, I can see more of the architecture. It is a really pretty house...

* * *

I don't normally cuss, and by normally don't, I mean like, ever, but I think there are some moments in time where it is permitted. And now is one of them.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," I chant as I hurriedly walk through a corridor. The group of guys from before had found me again not too long ago, and they have been insisting on harassing me. Nothing too serious, but enough to make me panic. I don't like the attention and I don't like dealing with peskering guys. I hadn't spotted Jason in the mix this time and this concerns me. He seemed like, though half drunk, at least he had a little decency. The rest just remind me of mindless, perverted, teenage boys. So, yes, I think a cuss word is definitely permitted.

"Hello, we meet again," someone calls and I can hear a smirk in their voice.

Great. They found me. Maybe I can just ignore them. Ignoring is always a good tactic to use.

Apparently not. They keep trailing behind me and laughing, and it makes me extremely uncomfortable to understand that they're probably staring at my butt. Like I said, mindless, perverted teenage boys. And I just _have _to be wearing something ridiculously scandalous. This is just not my night.

There's a fairly good sized group of people up ahead at the edge of a more secluded hallway. I hear them laughing, most likely a circle of friends enjoying themselves. And I've got this group of boys following me. What did I ever do? I groan and flick my eyes back and forth. What am I going to do? Aside from the group of people, there isn't a lot of people around. A few scattered here and there but they are all laughing and acting drunk (probably are), and I can't remember my way back to the main space to even hope to lose them in a crowd. In the halls at school, I'm much too used to being a fish and slipping between steady streams of students to make my way to my classes, which has proved a very useful skill here, but it isn't going to help me when I'm all alone.

I hear them laughing and muttering things that I don't really want to know about. My face feels hot and I am so uncomfortable. Why can't they just leave me alone?

Finally, I just get angry. This is so ridiculous, they can't just grow up and realize that I'm _not interested. _The large group of people quickly passes and I quickly reach out with my arm and tug the nearest guy along with me. I hear him cry out in shock but I have the element of surprise and they're too stunned to pull away.

"What the hell-"

"_Where _have you _been,_ I have been looking _everywhere _for you! Do you realize how _hard _it is to _find_ someone in this place?" I scold, cutting them off and putting extra frustrated emphasize on the syllables, which isn't too hard.

I drag the stunned boy into the next room and as soon as we round the corner I duck him into the closest room and push him away from the door. "Who are you-" I hear the confused group of boys approaching and I slap my hand over his mouth, cutting him off mid sentence once again. I feel him stiffen but I peer around the corner from the shadows of the dim room and wait for them to pass. Luckily, they don't stop to look in the rooms and look, but they are awfully loud and take a long time to walk in a straight line.

Something warm presses into my hand and this time, I stiffen. I don't cry out because I don't want to catch the other boys' attention, but I scrunch up my face in disgust and try not to scuffle my feet uncomfortably.

When I'm positively sure they are all gone, I jump away and cry out accusingly, "What the heck?"

"I could say the same thing," the other person responds, folding their arms.

"You just _licked _my hand!" I say, clutching said appendage between my legs and trying to wipe the saliva off. There really wasn't all that much spit but it's still just _gross._

"I refuse to feel embarrassed about this when _you're _the one who grabbed _me,_" they reply hotly. "I'm turning on the lights now."

The person does so and my breath catches in my throat. Of course, just my luck, not only do I have to grab some random, innocent guy, but it has to be a really _attractive _guy as well. He has dark, windswept hair with a perfectly chiseled jaw and bright eyes, a white T-shirt that highlights a fair amount of muscle tone with black skinny jeans. Generally, guys just end up looking stupid in tight pants but this one pulls it off. Don't get me wrong, I can point out if a guy is good looking or not, I've just never been actually attracted to someone by their looks. It's strange and overwhelming and I absolutely hate that it makes me blush. I find it slightly mortifying that I can name this foreign emotion, as well. But I'm not going to lie, this guy is seriously attractive. Familiar, too…

"Whoa, whoa… _Annabeth?_" he asks in astonishment. _He has green eyes,_ I can't help but think, but I'm stunned out of my helpless, purely hormonal state when I realize that he knows my name.

I blink and take a closer look. Now that I think about it, the familiarity is there for a reason. Holy crap, seriously? Not only do I have to completely humiliate myself in front of some random person, but I have to actually _know _said person?

"Percy," I greet, still wiping my hand on what little pants I have. I'm so glad that I can keep a cool demeanor because on the inside, I am freaking out. Since when did Percy look like...this? I can't remember the last time I've seen him without his hair being wet, or in relatively modern clothes. It's not a bad thing, or, maybe it is, depending on how you look at it.

_No, Annabeth, bad, very, very bad!_

Ugh. Damn hormones. The world would be better off without them. I absolutely hate being a teenager, it's the worst stage of life, trust me. I often want to scream my head off or shout at my parents and believe you, me, that is _not _normal. I always hear people complain about their rocky relationship with their parents but mine work. Sure, Dad's gone a lot, but he's busy, I understand that. Besides, like I said before, I'm not used to all the attention anyways.

"Um…" Percy responds stupidly, staring at me with the same bewilderment. I swear, his eyes are going to bug out. That would be a shame, though, he really does have nice eyes. And I'm going to pretend I did not just think that.

"What?" I snap. Okay, I really need to cool it with the rude behavior. It's not like he really did anything, I'm the one who grabbed him, as he said.

"You look...um...different…?" he says, almost as a question. I realize what he means and my face goes up in flame. I try not to acknowledge it and turn the focus back to him.

"Can't say any different for you," I retort, still blushing heavily but when his face splashes a little red in his cheeks, it makes me feel a bit better.

"Yeah, apparently, I have to look halfway decent if I'm going out in public with my friends," he replies bitterly. "I look ridiculous, don't I?" he asks, reaching up with his hand to rub the back of his neck embarrassingly, an action that I most certainly do not find endearing in the least.

"N-no, no, not at all," I stammer, trying to hide just how much truth there is in that statement.

Percy snorts, seeming to forget the situation we're in. I'm almost grateful. He's surprisingly easy to talk to. "Thanks for the moral support, but, yeah, I kind of do."

"Please, if anything, I look completely ridiculous," I tell him firmly.

He stares at me and gets a funny look on his face, refusing to meet my eyes as he says, "No, you don't look ridiculous. A little un-...Annabeth, I guess, but it's not...bad."

I blink, a little surprised at the unexpected compliment, no matter the awkward air that came along with it. "Thank you," I say quietly.

"Um… Not to be rude or anything, but why exactly are you here? You don't seem like the type to enjoy these kinds of things, no offense, of course-"

"None taken, and trust me when I say I'm not," I cross my arms and check to make sure that the group of boys hadn't come strolling back. "What about you? You don't exactly strike me as a person to enjoy these kinds of social events."

"I'm not either, I was dragged by my cousin. Anyways, I think I am well within boundaries to ask you why the heck did you grab me?"

I sigh, blushing just slightly at the mere memory. "Well, you see… this group of, um, boys, were sort of, uh, harassing me a bit, trying to persuade me to come with them and all, so I just grabbed the nearest guy and made it seem like I was already taken. Simple, really. I just had to hope that whoever I happened to grab didn't expose me immediately, which you didn't, so…thank you. I should probably be going to look for a friend, now, so, I'll, um, see you around?"

"Wait, a group of guys were _harassing _you?" Percy gasps, stopping me from leaving with a question.

"Not technically, but I just really didn't want to deal with them and it happened to work, so, there, I guess."

"Did you find out their names? How about appearances?" he pesters.

"Um…the main one was tall with dark hair, and the only name I could catch was Jason. I'm pretty sure he was a blonde."

Percy's eyes harden inexplicably. "Did this...Jason happen to have a scar on his upper lip?"

I think back. The scar itself hadn't jumped out at me, but now that he mentioned it… "I don't know, maybe?"

He clenches his jaw and glares at nothing in particular.

"Hey, are you okay?" I ask warily, almost stepping into his line of vision so that he won't lose it or something. When people space out, they generally tend to be inactive for quite a while and I don't have time. The polite thing to do would be to at least thank him and say goodbye, so I want to try and be a little nice to make up for randomly snatching him from his friends.

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm fine. Just thinking about... Who are you looking for again?"

"Oh, no, you've already helped me out, I don't need to-"

"Nah, don't worry about it," he smiles, being so very gentlemanly that it's hard for my brain to grasp the fact that not only is he good looking, he's also _nice. _Again with the whole I-did-not-just-think-that business. I have really got to get a hand on these hormones!

"A-are you sure? Silena's a bit rambunctious and kind of a handful, she might be a little difficult to find-"

"Oh, you're looking for Silena Beauregard? I know right where she is, come on, I last saw her in the kitchen," Percy says, walking off with his hands in his pockets and his black haired head held down.

Whatever god graced him with kindness and looks is a seriously cruel person.

I suddenly pause, realizing what he had just said. "Wait, the _kitchen?_"

Percy gives me a look that is the slightest bit confused. "Yeah," he says slowly.

"Why the hell would she be in the kitchen?" I ask.

He shrugs. "How am I supposed to know?"

I don't reply as it was mainly a rhetorical question. Instead, I opt to nod my head at him, gesturing to lead the way as I still feel like I could get lost in a paper bag in a house like this. It's far too...grandiose for my taste. My own house isn't in any way bad, but it's not a mansion. It sometimes feels like it, though, when the twins are out and there's no one to make it an actual home. I like it that way. Sometimes.

It isn't a comfortable silence that we fall into as he navigates our way through Will Solace's house. In fact, it's rather awkward but can we really be blamed? I mean, come on, we last talked when we were twelve and I don't think last week counts as a conversation when he helped me in my momentary gracelessness. I don't really like it. I don't have any idea what to say, of course, but 'awkward' isn't among the list of words to describe Annabeth Chase.

"So," I start, feeling my voice raise in embarrassment, "how's swimming?"

"Good, fine," he responds, just as awkward. That honestly makes me feel a little better, though. I realize that Percy is just as inexperienced as I am. You'd think that someone as attractive as him would be more popular, but he tends to slip by. I'm not sure if I should be grateful or guilty that I'm only now thinking these (highly inappropriate) thoughts towards him.

"That's nice," I input, nodding my head though I am trailing behind him and there's no way he'd be able to see me. This is exactly why I don't like going out and trying to make friends. What's the point? The whole time you just end up awkwardly exchanging one to three word sentences and they're just a stranger anyway. For gods' sake though, he's been in my class for seven years, you'd think I'd know more about him than his name and that he swims. I'm not even sure who his friends are, if he even has any. Wait, no, he does, he was talking with them right before I came in and embarrassed myself for all eternity. And of course he not only knows who I am, but what I'm comfortable with and I just have to be wearing the sluttiest outfit I have ever worn _in my entire life _and this has to be at the most popular party of the year. Gee, and I thought I was smart.

Oh well. All we have to do is find Silena and then we can part ways as unlikely acquaintances and move on with our socially inept lives, right? How hard do I need to make it out to be? I can do this, even if this is a highly uncomfortable situation for the both of us. I'm just as much a stranger to him as he is to me.

We both jump at the sound of breaking glass and shouting, although I can't tell if it's drunk happiness or anger. Maybe both. We cast a concerned glance at each other before sprinting ahead towards the glass sounds. We burst into the kitchen, which is in a state of catastrophe. I gasp as Silena screams and hurls a bottle of beer at the wall, shattering it into millions of shards. After that, she breaks into a fit of giggles, hiccuping and giggling even harder.

"She- she's completely lost it," I gape, staring at her.

Percy whistles. "No kidding."

She moves to pick up another bottle and we both move as one to grab both of her arms. Percy wrestles the bottle out of her hands while I say, "O-kay, Silena, I think you've had one too many alcoholic beverages."

She hiccups again and giggles. "No, Annie, I want to stay."

"Silena, you're drunk," I tell her, looking her in the eyes and trying to hide the fact that she is seriously ruining what little of a night I was having.

"I think I need to get you home," I say, wiping a wet strand of her dark hair out of her mouth. She blows in my face and breath reeks of alcohol. I've always hated that stench. "And a breath mint," I cough.

Percy wordlessly helps me support Silena as she limply protests but she's so drunk she can't even think properly. I'm not too sure why she would be so drunk in the first place, it's not like her to go so over the top. I can't say that I'm sympathetic, though, she's the one who was so irresponsible to put all those brain killing liquids into her system.

"Sorry to ask, but can you tell Rachel to get a ride home? I think I'm done for the night," I say, grunting under Silena as she still struggles to get out from under us.

"Yeah, no problem," he replies, not even breathing hard. I like to think that I'm not all that out of shape but Percy isn't even breaking a sweat and I'm struggling to hold her weight. I can't help but admire him all the more for it but if you asked me about it I'd lie.

I'm so glad that Percy drags us to a side door and helps me through. I think I would die if we had to take her out the front door. Not only would it be humiliating but imagine all that attention! I want to whimper just thinking about it. Then again, I'm not too sure how Percy knows about that side door in the first place, but, anything to avoid another horrific scene.

It takes me a few seconds to remember where we parked but once I remember we huff our way to it. For such a tiny girl, Silena really can be a deadweight. We unceremoniously deposit her in the back seat where she giggles and curls up like a cat, even going as far as to stretch and yawn. I glare down at her figure. She _so _owes me an explanation.

"Thanks, again, I mean, you didn't have to help but it was...really...nice…" I fade off as I turn my back, addressing Percy but he isn't anywhere in sight. I blink. How does one just back out and leave like that? I didn't even get to properly thank him, or say goodbye. And it's not like I'll ever get the chance to, I don't really see him in school all that much.

Helpful and gentlemanly one moment and mysterious and quiet the next. Percy Jackson is a strange boy, I decide. And so he might be the teeniest, _tiniest _bit attractive, but like I said before; if you asked me, I'd deny it.

* * *

**Hello! Okay, after way too long a time, I finally finished the third chapter! Thanks for all those people who have followed, favorited, and reviewed, it means a lot. I promise that the story will get better as we go along because they normally all start out as deadbeat as crap so I tried to incorporate some aspects that are hopefully realistic.**

**So thanks again for taking the time to read this, be sure to let us know what you think and to go check out RNC's account as well, there are some pretty awesome HTTYD stories going on there. As for me, back to the next chapter of Soul Of A Dragon, yay! Until next time!**

**~`~ Persnickety2018**

**P.S. Please note that ninjas are useless and do not **_**ever **_**hire them to steal stuff as PJO does not belong to me or RNC.**


	4. Chapter 4: Percy

Kiddos, don't go to big kid parties. They're loud, like to the point where your eardrums are begging for death, and there's a lot of alcohol (no thanks. I like being in full control of my mind, thank you very much).

Which is why I immediately regret agreeing to go to the party with Blackjack. I spend the first bit of it absolutely miserable. Tyson had all but vanished the second we had entered, an impressive trick considering his size and appearance, and Blackjack is… Also nowhere to be found. Are they trying to tell me something? I'm not exactly a social butterfly but I'd prefer it if I didn't have to stand around awkward as hell and looking like a total loner with a cup of god-knows-what that I have no intention of drinking.

I don't know, all I know is that I waste a good portion of the night making sure that I kept a clear head and a cool temper not to knock someone's block off when they won't leave me alone. Which, surprisingly, isn't all that hard. I don't know what time it is when I finally find spy Blackjack's unruly head of hair in a crowd, so I ditch my sentry in a not-that-quiet corner and easily slip unnoticed through the throng of people and noise.

"Blackjack!" I call as he rounds a corner with a decent sized group of people. It's too dark to distinguish any of them but one familiar face is enough, right?

Thankfully, he hears my voice and turns around, his face lighting up in what I'm going to call guilt-disguised-as-joy. His fault for ditching me. "Hey, Boss!" he calls, sucking me into a conversation with his friends. After most of the introductions (they're all his friends and I find that I don't recognize any of them), they let me stand there and pretend to be listening in on the conversations without actually having to partake in any. This will probably be the extent of my social interactions so, I think I can just-

I spoke too soon. Way, way soon. Like, the universe hates me and likes to singularly cut me out of the vast majority of people just to torture me as an individual. I mean, I never did anything wrong, I live a decent life, maybe a few slip-ups here and there but nothing major, I like to think. I try, I have a good relationship with my mom, I care about my brother probably more than allotted, that should give me some good credits with karma, right? Wrong. All I know is one second I'm hearing a guy named Guidon going on about something or other, and the next something darts out, clamping their hand around my upper arm with surprising strength and whirling me away down the hall.

"What the hell-"

"_Where_ have you _been_," the person, apparently female (_she has a nice voice_, I think before dispelling that from my memory) cuts me off, acting like I'm, I dunno, her boyfriend or something. And she sounds pretty annoyed. Inexplicably, that worries me a little. "Do you know how _hard_ it is to_ find_ someone in this place?"

She drags me into the nearest room, yanking me away from the door and shoving me against the wall only to quickly reside right beside me. _Okay_, I think, _enough is enough, what the hell is going on!?_ "Who are you-" is all I'm able to get out before she claps a hand over my mouth, silencing me… And simultaneously cutting off my air.

This lasts a full five seconds before I finally get fed up. It's not like I really mean to, of course, I wouldn't want someone to lick my hand either but it was instinct, I swear! And it's not technically my fault, I have this thing where my lungs kinda require oxygen, and this person seems to be very intent on me not getting it.

Her entire hand went rigid with disgust but she ceased to let go. Fortunately, her hand slipped and I could suck in a breath through my nose. In the dim light and out of the corner of my eye, my brain recognizes her face, but doesn't put a name to it… Don't blame me for not getting it immediately, the music had done a number on my brain.

After a while, her hand finally goes slack and she jerks it back as if I had bitten her. I can feel her eyes piercing into my head, glaring with a passionate fury. My internal reaction is immediately a little scared and intimidated by this, but I quickly bury it in indignation… Indignation, quite an odd and uncharacteristically sophisticated word for me to think- focus Percy! "What the heck?!" she exclaims.

"I could say the same thing," I say sternly, crossing my arms and finally settling with glaring right back at her.

"You just _licked_ my hand," she cries in outrage. I roll my eyes. And I thought _I_ was being immature when I did it. Her response inadvertently reminds me of kindergarten or something, still obsessed with the boy-girl rivalry that I'm pretty sure parents invented to amuse themselves at their children's expense- dang it, I'm off task again! Stupid ADHD.

"I refuse to feel embarrassed about this when you're the one who grabbed me," I snap back. "I'm turning on the lights now." As soon as that's done, I instantly wish it wasn't. What she is wearing… Wasn't at all conservative. It showed off… Quite a lot. A dark red, low-cut V-neck short sleeve shirt hugs her upper body and miles of tan legs (how the hell does someone get tan in New York at this time of year?) are exposed by flimsy jean shorts. Not that I'm looking.

_Don't look lower, don't look lower, don't look lower, don't look lower,_ I chant to myself as I dart my gaze back up to her eyes. Her intimidating and startlingly grey eyes. Suddenly, I realize there is something much, much worse about my predicament. Not only am I having to beat back certain thoughts with a mental stick, I finally realize that I actually recognize this person. Does the universe hate me for existing or something? I swear; out to get me!

"Woa, woa… Annabeth?" I question, panicking a little. This is not good. Not. Good. At. All.

"Percy," she greets dismissively in return, wiping her hand on her leg. I swallow, trying to keep my mind as far away from the gutter as possible. My success is varied, but gimme a break, I'm a teenage guy with shitty hormones and I've been inhaling alcohol fumes for the better part of two hours. Some things are just outside of my control…

"Um…" I try for a coherent sentence.

"What?" she questions, and I panic. I have no idea if she's actually able to hurt me physically, but given her grip when she toted me in here, I'm not ready nor willing to take that chance. Quickly I begin thinking of something, shaking out my brain for an answer that won't get me in trouble.

"You look…um… Different?" _Good job Percy_, I think sarcastically.

"Can't say any different for you." she responds coolly. Well crap.

"Yeah," I say, forgetting my current situation and allowing myself to dwell on the frustration of my different wardrobe I've been harboring all night. "Apparently I have to look halfway decent if I'm going out in public with my friends." I rub the back of my neck, embarrassed. Then, I realize that it kind of sounds like I'm making myself, I don't know, presentable. Quickly, I add, "I look ridiculous, don't I?"

"N-no, not at all," she stammers, inexplicably flushing. Must be the alcohol.

I brush it off and respond with, "Thanks for the moral support, but, yeah, I kind of do."

"Please, if anything, I look completely ridiculous."

I swallow. "No, you don't look ridiculous."

Different? Yes. Completely out of her comfort zone? Yes. Way more alluring than logical reasoning permits? Hell yes (and I am going to pretend that last one never happened). But ridiculous? Far from it.

"A little un-..." I continue, contemplating how to explain this without receiving a (probably well-deserved) slap. Or worse. "Annabeth, I guess. But it's not... Bad."

A quiet and gracious 'thank you' slips her lips after that and I get the feeling she's uncomfortable with compliments so I move on by asking why she dragged me off in the first place. She goes on to tell me about how she's here against her will, also, and explaining that a group of guys had been harassing her previously and she'd wanted to ditch them. I ask about names and she lets slip that one of them had been Jason. It's possible that it could have been the actual Golden Boy, scarred lip and all.

For some reason that bothers me. A lot. Like, really a lot. Not just the fact that Jason Grace had been involved in harassing an innocent bystander, but just the fact that Annabeth had been harassed in general. I don't know why, this girl had barely spoken more than a few sentences to me since we'd met those many years ago and pretty much acted like an ice queen inhabiting the ice age the whole time. She seems a little defrosted this time, though. Or, at least, less frosty than a glacier.

After explaining a few more things, I insist on helping her find her friend, whom, once I find out it's Silena Beauregard, I remember spotting in the kitchen. And it's only because I was raised right as a gentleman and not because I like talking to her. Even though the polite small talk is literally painful. Sure enough, Silena's completely and utterly wasted when we locate her. Thoroughly intoxicated, drunk off her ass, however you want to say it, there is too much alcohol in her for her to be anywhere near functioning like any definition of a normal human being. Yeah, that bad. Like, hysterically-and-randomly-hurling-empty-glass-bottles-at-the-wall-and-then-hysterically-and-randomly-laughing bad.

Anyway, Annabeth has me send her red-headed friend a message to get her own ride home but I slip away in the dark parking lot before we have to exchange awkward goodbyes. Once I'm back inside, the traitors known as Blackjack and Tyson are missing for about another hour before I finally find them, and it's another thirty minuets before I manage to drag them out.

Blackjack is completely out of it, and Tyson's a little giggly. Maybe I'll lend them a little sympathy next time they drag me to a party against my own will to act as designated driver but, probably not. I would like to say I kept thinking about my encounter with Annabeth all night, but really, it isn't until the next school day that I really think about it much, after I see her in the hallway.

About a week past after that, and not much else happens. Annabeth goes straight back to being icy and kind of scary. I go to classes, attend swimming practice, doing all my usual stuff. Things are normal- as if that crazy loud, annoying night had never even happened.

Then I just have to take Mrs. O'Leary for a walk.

Mrs. O'Leary is our huge black mastiff the size of a garbage truck. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. The size of a large horse. You get the point, she's huge, and she's my dog. She used to belong to my neighbor, Mr. Quintus, before he passed away. Mrs. O'Leary had always been fond of me and Tyson, so he had decided that we were the best people to take care of her. Not that it's a bad thing, I love her to death and she's an awesome extension to our family that we begged and pleaded from our knees for our mom to accept, it's just that... She's the cause for this to happen.

I had decided to take her for a walk in the dog park. The walk is fine, the sun is shining, the dogs are sniffing other dogs' butts, Mrs. O'Leary is giving me a personal introduction to the grass… Yeah, all in good fun.

"Woa, girl!" I shout as my over-sized dog drags me along as if I'm no more than a paperclip rather inconveniently tied to a rope around her neck. I'm barely keeping my feet up as the enormous bunch of black fur in front of me streaking along the park. Every once in a while, I try to dig my feet into the ground to stop her, but it's like trying to stop a NASCAR car with a leash. Yeah, you can guess how well that worked out: pointless and totally not worth the straining effort.

I really can't be blamed for what happens next, it is completely the dog's fault, no joke. Mrs. O'Leary suddenly stops, but I, of course, keep going, slamming into someone with a shout. We tumble over each other, both of us grunting as we unwillingly hit the dirt.

First thing I see when I open my eyes is Mrs. O'Leary bothering a Rottweiler attached to a thick multicolored leash. Second is a curtain of blond hair. Uh-oh, please don't tell me- I push myself up only to discover I had mowed over none other than Annabeth Chase. Seriously Universe? What did I ever do to you? Did I commit some cosmic crime in a past life or by accident or something? Seriously. Okay, maybe it sounds unlikely but it's possible. Ha, hey, it's _paws_ible! Get it, get it? Oh my god, if ADHD had a neck I would gladly like to strangle it right about now.

I scramble off her immediately. "Sorry, sorry, I am so sorry," I apologize, offering a hand to help her up. She ignores it with a halfhearted "It's fine", pushing herself to her own feet. Now, I realize she's the one holding the leash with the Rottweiler on it.

"You have a dog?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. Annabeth doesn't really seem like the dog type. Or cat type. Not even the goldfish type… If that's even a thing. Basically I can't really imagine her with a pet, period. And yet, here she is.

"No," she says coldly and abruptly (big surprise).

My eyes flicker between her and the Rottweiler questioningly. She still doesn't get it for a few moments so I'm just standing there stupidly whisking my eyes back and forth before she finally understands and says, "I'm just helping your cousin, Nico. His dad gave him this mutt and the dog seems to like me, so..."

Well, that's news to me. Wait, how does she know Nico's my cousin- aw, forget it.

I clear my throat. "I, uh, didn't know Nico got a dog. What's his name?" I ask, trying to make conversation. Why? Search me.

"Cerberus."

Of course Nico would name his pet after the primordial hell-beast that guards the gates to the lands of the dead. Because it's Nico. What else could Nico's pet possibly be named? He certainly wouldn't name it Fluffy, or something. Still... C_erberus? Really?_

Cerberus sniffs at Mrs. O'Leary, and she barks in response at him, prompting a similar reply. I wisely let go of the leash before they start to bolt away to play. Annabeth, however, is not so fortunate. She's pulled back to the ground as Cerberus goes bounding after my dog.

I try not to snicker as she gets up, doing a bad, bad job of hiding it. She gives me a glare so severe it burns a pair of smoldering holes in my very soul. Yeah, that bad. I swallow, attempting to regain my pride as she brushes bits of dirt and grass out of her hair, looking at me as if I had kicked her mom or something.

"Sorry," I offer.

She crosses her arms and I kick the dirt awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. "So… How was… Stuff? After the party." I try really hard not to remember the outfit she had worn. That would not help right now.

"Stuff was good," she nods, looking a bit awkward herself. It occurs to me just how bad at communicating and, well, being around people in general she is, as well. "Selina was hungover for a while. She was really out of it."

I snort at that. _That_ much had been obvious. I wouldn't have been surprised if she had died of alcohol poisoning. Saddened, yeah. But from the condition she was in, no, I really couldn't exactly say I'd have been surprised.

"Yeah…" I trail off, not knowing what else to say. This must be a record for our longest conversation. I really don't know what to do from this point. I have no clue what kind of small talk to make, or what to say to her. She does look nice today, though. I could say that. Her loose grey sweater is definitely back to Annabeth-apparel along with (long) faded blue jeans.

Yeah… No. I'd rather keep my head attached to my body, thank you very much.

"So…" she tries. "Is that your dog? The one trying to flatten Cerberus?"

"Yeah," I nod, "her name's Mrs. O'Leary. She was kind of a gift, I mean, her old owner died and he gave her to me right before he passed on. He had lung cancer, but I heard he went peacefully. I wasn't there… Am I rambling?"

"Yes."

"Good to know." I figuratively kick myself in the back of my head. That was an embarrassing move. Now I probably look like some kind of dorky idiot (which, in a way, I kind of am but I what little ego I have begs to differ). I bite my lip, trying to think of something. "How's life?"

Ok, I deserve to be beat up for that one.

Annabeth shrugs. "Fine, I guess. Just, normal stuff." Then she tilts her head. "Hey, doesn't your mom work at the candy shop a few streets over? My little brothers love that place." Well, I'm learning all kinds of new stuff about Annabeth. She walks dogs and apparently has little siblings. Not at all things I'd have her pegged down for.

It's my turn to shrug a bit. "Yeah. She's been working there for a while now. I think she's gonna quit soon though."

"Oh." She sounds so neutral about it. And everything else.

"How'd she end up working in a place like that anyway," she says suddenly. "She seems like way too smart a person to end up working in a place like that at her age." I swallow. That was... Kind of intrusive.

"Well, we've fallen into some bad times. My Dad kind of screwed us over and we landed in kind of a bad spot. She, Tyson and I have been doing the best we can since. My old stepdad didn't help things at all."

There's another silence after that for a while. This is… Really, really awkward. I almost wish that there was some kind of crisis or something, but all we get are the barking dogs and one really annoying Yorkshire dog that kept yipping at me.

"So…" I finally say. "How's the whole watching Nico's dog thing working out so far?"

"Fine. I'm kind of training him a bit. He's addicted to rubber balls." She answers me simply. "He keeps destroying them, though. Honestly it's kind of cute, but I'll be giving him back to Nico soon, so it doesn't really matter." She says it with such finality, she almost makes me feel hopeless. And I kind of like looking to the bright side, it's all I have left.

"You're kind of a downer, you know that?" I deadpan flatly.

"So? It's not like things are going to last forever. I'm hardly going to see Cerberus again after I finish training him for Nico. What's the point in getting attached?"

I tilt my head. That was… Deep stuff. It seems like what she's talking about

"Kind of a bleak outlook, don't you think," I ask, frowning. She sighs, shaking her head as if I had just said something incredibly stupid and naive.

"Look, it's the truth. Any friends I make are just going to end up leaving after high school, same with any romantic connections. So why put myself though that? I'd rather spare myself the pain- and the effort. I don't really need a lot of people anyway."

"Is that why you have a sting of two-day-old relationships?" I ask bluntly. That stops her right in her tracks. Her eyes widen with something like indignation (hey, there's that word again- and shutting up now)… Or something else. I'm not good at reading people. Sue me.

"What?" she demands in a dangerously even tone.

"You have such a string of boyfriends. What is it, you actually try and then just psyche yourself out because of this 'it will end in tragedy' stuff?" Am I being rude and invasive? Yes. Should I shut up right about now? Yes. Should I quit while I was unharmed? Of course. Do I?

Haha… No.

"I mean, you can't just go through life like that. You'll end up some lonely person living by-OW!"

She smacks me. Actually smacks me. And it really hurts, dear lord this girl is stronger than she looks! It's like getting a full force blow from Bekendorf! I think I'm going to have a nicely colored purple bruise on my forearm when I get home.

"You just…"

"Yes. Yes I did." She turns and whistles, calling Cerberus over. The black and tan Rottweiler abandons his playmate to rush over to his trainer. She reclaims his leash, and without another word to me, begins walking out of the park.

I blink a couple times, not quite knowing what I did wrong. I just about to call her over, but that's when the universe decides to bite me in the arse, a quick wake-up or whatever you want to call it to remind me that this isn't my problem, no matter how much it itches me. Mrs. O'Leary slams into my side with full force, turning me into a Percy-Pancake once again. She licks my face a few times, drenching me.

"…Ow." is all I have to say.

* * *

**Hey, so, it's actually PersnicKety2018, I just wanna say that the lateness of this chapter is completely my fault. RNC gave it to me practically months ago but I got caught up in other things and forgot to edit. Some of the writing is my own since RNC's busy with Story Number Fifty-Three or something like that but all credit is his. No promises on the punctuality of the next chapter since it's my turn next but it'll be out sometime...**

**It would mean a lot to let us know what you think in the little box to the bottom right!**

**~`~ PersnicKety2018**

**P.S. Until I can get a blow torch, night vision goggles, a flame thrower, and some duct tape, all Percy Jackson characters do not belong to me or RNC.**


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